


Transpose

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, Rough Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfrid watches Bard and loathes Dwalin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transpose

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “rough sex” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20800255#t20800255).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Alfrid dares to push the door open a little wider, because their grunting has gotten so loud that it’s impossible they’ll hear him. The rattles of the desk alone ricochet all down the hall. If anyone enters the new Master of Dale’s office they’ll just have to stand there and listen, because Alfrid’s certainly not about to man his own desk at a time like this.

He’s busy peeking. He doesn’t feel the least bit guilty, because they left the door open again and they’re _so loud_ and they’re practically shaking the whole building. The first time this happened, Alfrid had actually thought to run in and save his new master—thought to, mind; hadn’t actually done it—but then he registered the moans and knew that no one needed saving. The dwarves lie through their teeth and say they come down to sign treaties, but really they do it to fuck Bard senseless, and it serves them right that Alfrid gets to watch. 

The big, scary bald one with the tattoos and the giant chest comes by the most. He’s in there now, his log-thick fingers digging into Bard’s bare ass and his monster cock slamming Bard into the wood. Bard’s bent over his own desk, his trousers around his ankles. His tunic’s rolled up his back, but the dwarf—Dwalin, is it?—quickly paws at the fabric and rips it off, literally _tears_ it to pieces, and flings the rags away. Alfrid can’t help but scowl—he’ll likely be the one to shop out a new one. Not that he minds clothing Bard. Not that he even minds _working_ for Bard. It’s worth it for shows like this, even though he’ll still sneer his heart out at both of them when they leave. Alfrid’s old master might’ve been a useless fool, but at least he didn’t let filthy _dwarves_ fuck him like a dog.

Bard doesn’t take it that easy. He pushes his hips back, screaming at every thrust. Every time his body’s thrown forward, he scrambles back up, enabling the force that seems to break him. He’s breathing hard and gasping and moaning and sweating like a pig, gold skin glistening in the candlelight and the remnants of evening light through the windows. He looks both delicious and debauched, sort of how he always has, but worse, because now he’s _naked_. Alfrid’s already got it all memorized but is still sure to take it all in. This is the stuff he jerks off to when he’s alone. Bard, always Bard. He replaces the image of the dwarf with himself, though he wouldn’t make such a horrible racket. He’s not a stout, fat, lumbering, thick-headed beast like Dwalin— _he_ should be in there, stuffing Bard full of cock. 

Dwalin doesn’t even have the decency to be quiet about it. He roars just as loud as Bard, slurring things in a foreign language that can’t be good, and he slaps Bard’s hips here and there, leaving big, angry, pink handprints behind. Once, he fists his fingers in Bard’s hair and jerks Bard up, wracking out another shriek. He holds Bard tight against him and bites hard into Bard’s shoulder, while Bard squirms and grinds back like the crude, wanton wreck he is. Alfrid’s only solace is that it gives him a nice side view of Bard’s chest, even though it’s marred by Dwalin’s hands clawing over it. Even though Dwalin’s shorter, he dominates Dale’s pseudo-king, though not for Bard’s lack of trying. 

When Dwalin’s done bruising Bard’s neck, he shoves Bard back down, and Bard hits the desk so hard that Alfrid’s sure it’ll snap. Somehow, it holds his weight. Bard regains himself. He swears and reaches back to hold Dwalin’s hip like he actually cares which dwarf it is, like he actually _likes_ this one, and it makes Alfrid vaguely sick amidst his arousal. It would have to be the scariest dwarf, too, the only one he couldn’t jump with a couple of guards. He just has to accept that that brute gets to sheath his ugly cock in Bard’s sweet hole, while Alfrid’s stuck outside in the hall, vainly touching himself through his trousers. 

Bard comes first, like usual—he _needs_ this release, even though he never complains of it to Alfrid. He cries out, “ _Dwalin_ ,” voice hoarse and deep and absolutely beautiful. Alfrid winces, blocks it out, and keeps kneading his own cock. Dwalin stabs Bard forward once more, then pulls back, his cock drawing out, and Bard topples weakly to the floor. He lands at a new angle, finally with the door in his line of sight, but he doesn’t get a chance to really look. He’s too busy being splattered with cum. Dwalin pumps himself out on Bard’s face, grunting and thrusting forward to smear his cock along Bard’s cheek. Bard groans, his eyes closed with seed dribbling down them. He looks _perfect_.

Alfrid’s going to come in his trousers. But he doesn’t get the chance—Bard wipes his hands across his face and opens his eyes, spotting Alfrid with surprise and a scowl. Alfrid flushes bright red and hurriedly leaves before Bard can sick his pet dwarf on him. He heads to the washroom to finish himself off, half glad he’s leaving without having to watch the afterglow.

He thinks about getting tattoos and growing out a thicker beard, but in the end he just comes in his hand and sulks.


End file.
